


Transplant

by RosaTonta



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Fighting, Other, Sadness, Sasaki runs off to do the ghoul thing AU, i wrote this at 3am and didn't proofread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaTonta/pseuds/RosaTonta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, no, you can't do this to me! You don't get to care about me now!" <br/>Mutsuki was going to be sick and Kaneki Ken was to blame. </p><p>AU Where Kaneki Ken drops the Haise personal altogether after encountering Eto on the roof and runs from the CCG. <br/>Chapter 56/57 fricked me up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transplant

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I were talking about the sadz on skype. This was originally supposed to include some suzuya/mutsuki but i'm sleepy and it threw off pacing. ;o; Anyways, enjoy !

 

                It was hot. No, no, it was cold. Or maybe it was windy. Mostly, it didn't matter. He couldn't remember anyway. Everything existed in muted grays, dimmed out and blurry. A few points of clarity stood out among the mush, but they weren't things he wanted to dwell upon. They were the things like the way Saiko's pigtails drooped when she hadn't bothered to wash or fix her hair for days at a time. Things like the silences between Urie's heavy footfalls up the stairs and the slamming of his bedroom door. Things like the word "rogue" falling from the mouth of a face he couldn't remember.

                Going rogue. What did that even mean? Mutsuki didn't know what it meant for Haise, but he knew what it meant for him. It meant so many things. He couldn't speak them all out loud or he'd run out of breath. But for the time being, he focused on the working knowledge. It meant Haise was gone and he had a gap to fill. It didn't really matter if he felt up to it. It didn't really matter if he was ready or worthy or responsible. Those were immaterial.

                He'd been unconscious when it happened, woken up to sobs bouncing through the hallway and shattering against the ground. What a mess. What a mess. What a--

                There were monstrously sized tears streaking down Saiko's little red face and he wanted to blot at them with his sleeve. They carved their paths down her round cheeks and some escaped to the floor where they would soon evaporate. He thought about them. About how much he was like them and about how much he wasn't. It was quiet and loud, people came and went. Bargains were stuck and broken with the dead boy on the ground. Mutsuki didn't feel at home inside his body. He still didn't when he took Saiko by the hand and forced her to walk away. He still didn't nearly a month later. Something inside of him had been gathered up and scooped out, he was sure. He just wished he knew what it was.  

                Saiko stopped howling Shirazu's name eventually.

                _Sasaki would know what to do_ , Mutsuki had told himself. Sasaki would know what to do and he would make sure it got done. Shirazu trusted in him so much that he had asked for him by name. That was because Sasaki was worthy of it; he was the center of their odd little family around which they all gravitated. Saiko cried for him and Mutsuki grasped her trembling hand in his numb one and waited for word from another group. But the word that came was nothing they had expected.

                _Rogue_. The word left a sour taste in Mutsuki's mouth. It was an insurmountable wall. It was the distance between them and Sasaki and it was what he suddenly realized had possibly been there all along. Saiko hiccupped his name along with Shirazu's and Mutsuki let go of her hand. He stepped closer to the investigator --he'd never be able to remember who it was, he'd come to accept that-- and asked them to repeat what they had said.

                _First Class Sasaki Haise has gone rogue._

 

* * *

 

 

                The food was untouched. Mutsuki wasn't surprised by that. They'd developed an uneasy routine, the three of them. Urie would take the food up to his room, where he would spend the remainder of the evening. Sako would insist she wasn't hungry and then sneak down to eat at one in the morning --sometimes later. Mutsuki could hear her door creak open in the early hours, he himself laying in bed above the covers and staring at the ceiling. Sometimes he would creep down to join her, but only if it felt right. On some nights she didn't say a word to him. On others, he held her in his arms and let her pour out her sorrows on his shoulder. The tears were damp and warm and he wondered how she could produce oceans like that. That question didn't need answering when he was sweeping her hair back with gentle fingers and coaxing a glass of water to her hiccupping lips. He'd take her to bed then, deciding enough was enough. Some nights they didn't separate until morning, her hands finding him in the dark and clinging to him.

                He sighed and put the food all away, save for a small portion for himself. He already knew how this was going to play out. The house felt so big, the empty spaces pronounced like an orchestra holding a beat of rest for too long. It unsettled him, absence washing over and under and through until it became a part of him.

                Mutsuki thought about getting drunk. It was scary how easy choices were when you were disconnected; when you suddenly realize that you don't care. How scary it was to not care. But maybe that fear _was_ how he cared. He didn't do it, just returned to his room for some reading that he knew wouldn't occupy his mind enough to keep the rush of itching thoughts away.

                They'd come so naturally to depend upon Haise. Some small part of him wanted to prove that it was unnecessary. They'd leaned so heavily upon a ticking time bomb. So Mutsuki  worked harder than he ever had before. His hands were steady until they shook. When his mind was on something, he had a surgeon's hands. Saiko needs food, even if it won't be eaten until 2AM. His hands are fine. Urie tracked mud in the foyer again. He cleans it up. His hands are fine. A few dishes are missing and he has to look inside Shirazu's room for them. His hands are shaking.

                (They were left on the night stand; a glass of water and a mug.)

                (They weren't even empty. Like he would be returning to polish them off.)

                Mutsuki moved robotically to sweep up shards of broken glass from the dining room floor. Urie had broken something. Mutuski didn't register what. He looked down to see that it was the mug from Shirazu's room --his favorite.

                Mutsuki's hands shook.  

 

* * *

 

               

                It rained one morning. He couldn't remember which morning it was, only that it was so early and he was already so tired. The sound was quiet and familiar, making it just a little harder to rise from bed. It was the kind of rain that made the earth open its face to the sky, the kind of rain gardeners welcomed. Thirsty roots and sun-baked leaves would stretch and greedily take in more and more. It was the fortunate kind of rain. He wondered briefly if the plants out in the front of the chateau would be over-watered, but mostly he just wanted to drink some coffee. He used to take it black, but in the kitchen he made sure to dump in generous amounts of milk and sugar.

                He'd been uprooted before. This transplanting wasn't new. He'd gotten too comfortable, and wasn't that just his problem? It was foolish. He should've known this would happen again. The shovel and trowel always came for him, hacking and tearing and pulling until he could hardly recognize his circumstances. Some days he worried he could hardly recognize himself. Haise had been uprooted too, he supposed. Transplanted into a different person, maybe. A person who could turn his back on everything and everyone. A person Mutsuki could never follow.

                "Oh--" He sighed, realizing he'd over-filled his mug and spilled some onto the floor. The sound of it blended with the rain and made him think of the late night he'd had in that very room just a few hours before. It was one of Saiko's crying kind of nights. It didn't stop after he got her to sleep, his own eyes strained and sore from being open for so long. Sleep came easily for no one. She whimpered in a dream, calling for Haise. No, not Haise. _Maman._ Maman. Maman. Maman. Maman. The word made Mutsuki want to itch at his skin, the feeling creeping across him too real and raw. It slowly bothered him more and more until his arms became stiff where they wrapped around her sleeping shape comfortingly. Haise wasn't anyone's Maman, he wanted to tell her.

                But it would break her heart even more.

                In that moment, he had realized something odd. The darkness vibrated with revelation. He was no longer afraid. He was _angry_. They leaned on a ticking time bomb and Haise _let_ them before pulling the pin on himself and leaving them to deal with the shrapnel.

                He mopped up the coffee spill just in time for Urie to enter, looking just as tired as Mutsuki felt.

                "Good morning," He offered a travel mug of coffee, which Urie took. He never said _good morning, squad leader_. It wasn't a title he felt Urie was proud of anymore. He offered a small smile, which was more draining than he would have previously guessed. The two men existed quietly around one another, Mutsuki preparing a small lunch for Saiko and leaving it in the fridge with a note just in case.

                "Saiko?" Urie asked, and it was the first thing he'd said to Mutsuki all morning. Mutsuki just shook his head in reply, and it was all Urie needed. Saiko wasn't crying as much during the day anymore, but she also wasn't really doing anything else, either.

                Urie let it go and drove them both to work. He was the only one left with a license.

             

* * *

     

                Mutsuki had been looking for someone else. (Or had he been?) A heavy predation case had brought him to the area where one ward bled into the next and ghoul hierarchies had been unstable in recent months. Saiko hadn't been feeling up to the trek, and Urie had been busy filing paperwork to request reimbursement for some investigatory expenses. So really, he had to go out on his own. (Or did he?) He hadn't even realized who he had come across until their eyes locked. He didn't even look the same; pointed chin held higher, eyes sharper. Mutsuki wondered if he had changed so much as well.

                "Sasaki?" His grip tightened on his briefcase then, exposed eye wide. He didn't call him sensei anymore. He'd learned enough.

                "Mutsuki," The tone of Sasaki's voice left Mutsuki unsatisfied. It was empty of anything that he'd done to them. He hated himself for wanting to hear the guilt. He could see his eyes searching his face, flitting over the neat short haircut and coming to rest on his eyepatch. His medical eyepatch. He'd stopped wearing the leather one long before.

                "Sorry," Mutsuki shook his head, "I mean Kaneki, don't I?" Something in Kaneki's eyes shifted. Mutsuki didn't back down, flipping open his briefcase and pulling out his quinque. "There is an open order to eliminate the SS Rate Centipede on sight," He explained. His voice was so calm. His hands didn't shake. What was he doing? What was he doing? What was he--

                He was numb. He wondered if Kaneki was the same. He wondered if they were more similar than he thought.

                "Oh," Kaneki blinked, not even showing his kagune. And just like that, he was turning to leave.

                So that was it? After all this time? After all this bullshit? That was it. He was just going to expect Mutsuki to let him walk away. Some nameless sleeping beast inside of Mutsuki awoke. He lunged. Kaneki stopped, his kagune sprouting just enough to stop the blow. The predatory appendage grew little fingers, which he used to hold Mutsuki's blades and shove him back and away.

                "Listen," He turned around, both hands in his pockets. The image made Mutsuki's blood curdle in his veins, "You can't--"

                "Hah--!" Mutsuki was lunging again, his bikaku whipping out to pull Kaneki's legs out from under him while Mutsuki followed through with his quinque blades. Kaneki dodged. But he couldn't keep dodging forever.

                "Mutsuki--" He was cut off again by the sudden need to dodge another attack. Mutsuki remembered training with him. He remembered just the kind of tricks he would use on them then and was confident he could counteract and deflect them. With each strike, he drove Kaneki further back into the alley. But it was clear he wasn't fighting back with all the he had. Something about that really irritated him. Kaneki took and took and took and when there was nothing left, he ran. And he couldn't so much as give a little effort in a fight? Mutsuki felt the empty weight of the hollowness in his chest and imagined Kaneki to be the one to scoop it so clean. He thought of Shirazu's grave, Saiko's tears, Urie's quiet broken anger. He thought of himself, fading away.

                "You were what he wanted, you know." Mutsuki spat. That's what it was. There was a strange kind of poison in his voice he had never heard in himself before, "Shirazu asked to see _you_. And now I wonder why." He launched a fresh attack, "I'm glad he never saw you the way I do now."

                The quinque blade dug into flesh, ripping itself clean and leaving a gash. Kaneki stumbled back a step. There it was: The guilt. But it wasn't satisfying. The wound immediately began to regenerate. He was swatting at air. So he lashed out again, a less-calculated swing of his blades, his kagune pushing off against an alley wall to send him surging forward. Kaneki deflected, but refused to return the blow with one of his own. Mutsuki continued to advance, gritting his teeth. This wasn't a fight. Kaneki was making it look like a tantrum. God, he hated him. He hated him so much. How could he ever have thought otherwise? How could they all have been so fooled for so long?

                "So you blame me?" Kaneki asked, tone unreadable.

                Mutsuki's answer came in the form of another stab. Kaneki dodged.

                "I wasn't even there." He continued, "Blame the people who were. Blame your own weakness."

                "You weren't there because you ran!" He shouted, kagune striking out to the right as he moved in to the left with his blades. "You keep running! And you won't stop! How is that any less weak? You ran right when we needed you!" Each sentence was an accusation hot as fire, branding into Kaneki's skin. "I've been holding everyone together for so long! Do you know how they're doing after all of this? You don't! You didn't deserve Shirazu's admiration!"

                The words wouldn't stop. He didn't know where they were coming from.

                Maybe he really was rotten in the core.

                When had he started crying?

                Kaneki continued to dodge, not ever bothering to strike back. And that only made Mutsuki's anger swell. Anger. That's what that was. He hadn't been certain before, but now he knew. Why was Kaneki holding back? After everything that happened, why would he refuse? He'd picked his side.

                "No, no, you can't do this to me!" Mutuski insisted through his tears.

                He was crying so _so_ hard. He hadn't even known he'd needed to cry so badly. It dawned on him that it was the first time he'd allowed himself to cry since Shirazu's death. But even these tears weren't really _allowed_. They hadn't asked permission. They'd just shown up. He lunged at Kaneki with increasing ferocity, but the ferocity was messy. The calculated movements were losing their calculation. Was he holding back because he didn't _want_ to hurt him?

                Well, it was too late for that.

                "You don't get to care about me now! You don't even know me anymore!"

                _Blame your weakness, blame your weakness. Oh trust me, I do._

                The flicker of guilt in Kaneki's eyes returned for a moment, immediately covered by exhausted indifference. Tears dripped down Mutsuki's face and onto his neck, hot and embarrassing. But he had no time to be ashamed.

                "Why won't you--" He shouted, not even knowing how to end it. _Why won't you stay with us? Why won't you be trustworthy? Why won't you fight me? Why won't you leave my memory forever?_ "Why won't you fight!?" He finally choked out, one knife being blocked by a tendril of Kaneki's kangune. "Why _didn't_ you fight!? For Urie?" He swung his knife, blocked again. "For Saiko?!" He faked right before slamming Kaneki against the wall using his bikaku from the left, "For Shirazu?!" He voice broke and Kaneki managed to deflect another blow. They came quick as gunfire. "For _me_?"

                The last thing Mutsuki saw was a startling flatness in Kaneki's eyes as his kagune erupted in full.

                Later, though he wasn't sure how much later, Mutsuki awoke with his wounds bandaged. There was a persistent throbbing in his head as he sat up to get his bearings. He was in his bed, not sure of how he'd even gotten there. He blinked in the dim light and sat up stiffly before realizing that Kaneki's jacket was draped over his shoulders. His gaze came to rest on his open bedroom window, an escape route that had clearly already been used. So he'd been knocked out on purpose. Shoved aside but not fully let go. If Kaneki was going to run, why didn't he just commit to it? Why did he have to play this game?

                Mutsuki sat there in bed for a while, empty, tired...

                And hateful.


End file.
